Avith + Occia // Good Morning

[poorbedfellow]

Who: Moirine and Avith
When: Just before these posts here.
Where: The Occia's chambers
Rating & Warnings: PG


It was hard to keep her eyes open for very long, not because she was sleepy- she'd slept enough to last her a year- but because her eyelids were too heavy to lift. She'd been awake for hours, too weak to talk, and so listened to all that was said around her. Snatches of it made sense, but the jumbled rest she chalked up to her diminished state. How long had she been sick? When had she even gotten sick? Everything was a blur. When she managed to open her eyes around noontime, Moirine hadn't seen her brother at her bedside. Good, she thought, certain that he would have run himself ragged caring for her. He had the good sense to consider his own condition...

Flitting in and out of consciousness, Moirine tasted a thin broth, felt warm water on her skin, fingers in her hair. When she was finally ready to sit up in bed, her head full of wool and little else, the girl glanced from side to side for Allen. An initiate, two priests and Avith were staring at her, but her brother was nowhere to be found. The sun was almost set. He must have heard that she was awake by now. But then, he had sick of his own to tend to. She tried not to let his absence bother her. Pushing the hair back from her face with shaking hands, Moirine cleared her throat. "Please go. Avith, stay." Her voice was soft, but that wasn't such a shocking change.

She wanted to talk to her cancellarius alone. He would tell her true what had happened. The others would coddle her. But, more than that, she wanted someone who frightened her to speak with her now. A dream was nothing compared to Avith's shadowed brow and hammer on anvil cadence. "I-" Slowly, her words were coming back to her, but everything felt very far away, "How long was I asleep?"

It had been an especially tense time as her fever had spiked dangerously high. The healers had worked through the night to keep her cool, to try and make her swallow water and broth, anything to bring her temperature down. Her ramblings had startled them all when they'd heard them, but Avith said nothing to them, fearing to put any stock into feverish mutterings. When her fever broke, healers and Cancellari alike had breathed a sigh of relief, and one had been immediately dispatched to tell Allen, hoping it would settle him down to at least know she was out of danger. But he would not be brought to her until she was recovered.

It had been quiet before during her illness, unsettlingly so. Now it seemed more normal, peaceful, though as Avith sat, a book of Tobias' in his lap and the page unturned for some minutes, his mind went to wondering how long it would last. He rubbed at his forehead, trying to decide which to concentrate on- the written words or what he would say if she awoke while he was there. He had fervently hoped he would not be, but when one of the priests caught her awake and asked if she would like to sit, he gave in, sent a brief prayer to Cita, and shut the book.

He stood by the bed, concern only making his expression seem more stern than normally it did. He stopped one of the priests and gave him a quiet word to tell Allen that she was conscious and awake- he had no wish to keep him uninformed. When the priest left, he turned back to her.

She seemed much smaller than usual, diminished. Even her natural prettiness seemed... less. Too thin, too tired-looking. At her question, his brow rose a moment. After her ranting, the completion of a sentence stirred a hope in him he did not dare to foster too soon. "A week... and some days, lady." It seemed too short, too long, all at once. "You have been... very ill."

Longer than a week? No wonder she felt so drained. Allen told her bits and pieces about the illnesses he treated. To be under a fever for more than a week... Her faith wasn't as strong as it should have been, but the fact that she was alive made her wonder if maybe Cita did still want her as his Occia.

With one hand, she covered her face, thoroughly ashamed. It wasn't enough that she had all these protectors, the cancellari and her brother, now she had to make them try to guard her against her own body.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, meaning the words now more than ever. Her cancellari had so much to deal with. The priests had whole districts to tend to. The initiates had their chores and Allen, she'd upset Allen too much already. "I neglected my health." She'd indulged herself. Anger and fear and tedious hobbies... They'd made her forget her duty. She was there to be healthy, to be seen. "I was selfish."

It was half her inability to think clearly and half real guilt that made her slip her hand under the sheets and dig her nails into the burns on her palms. She wasn't going to cry in front of Avith. Tears always made her feel insincere.

He frowned slightly, at first confused, then better understanding for why she was apologizing. Seeing her so close to tears and try to fight them back, he glanced aside and took up the glass of water by her bed, only a quarter full, and held it out to her. A deep breath and a drink would help her to focus some again, give her a moment to compose herself.

While she did so, he stepped down the dias and took up the chair, bringing it up to sit on. He did not wish to loom over her, but kneeling would make her feel no better and it would be disrespectful to sit on the bed. Always aware of how she viewed him, he kept the chair at a short distance from her.

"We worried... a great deal. All is looked after." He clasped his hands together, searching her face again. "As best it can be." The seven of them, plus the Handmaiden, had been able to sort everything out, but he knew he was not the only tired one. "All you need do... is rest. For now."

The Occia nodded. It was humiliating to be the center of even more attention, but she appreciated the care she'd been given. She'd grown out of some of her naivety. Cita needed good, faithful people to act through- to thank Cita wasn't enough. She took a deep breath and buried her other hand under the sheets so that she wouldn't reach out to hold Avith's in a show of gratitude. A horrible sickness wasn't much of a thank you.

"I promise I will," she said gently, almost smiling. Then, she added, "Is my brother still running his rounds?" The sun was down and the sky was a deep reddish-purple. Her eyebrows tucked together. She didn't expect him to give up his work to hover over her bedside, but Moirine wanted to believe he cared enough to come home early.

He had expected her to bring up Allen soon enough. That she had not right away was both a worry and a comfort, in its own strange way. More a worry when she gave the reason for her not having been so immediately concerned.

He did not look away from her when she asked, nor when he responded. "Brother Allen... has not been on his rounds. Not since... he came back. The other week. And you forbid us enter." A long time ago now. Almost all of them had heard the noises, had come to check on them in varying degrees, but the silence that had fallen had reassured them that she had taken matters into her own hands. That had been the first mistake.

"... my Lady. I must tell you. We," he said, and he used the word in such a way that indicated them, the Cancellari, "have kept him seperate. From you. For his good... and for yours." He rubbed his hands together before keeping them clasped again. "He... he is not well."

Moirine listened carefully, trying to keep herself from any rash thoughts. She'd promised to rest. She had to at least try to keep that promise. Straightening her shoulders as best she could, the Occia frowned for a few seconds after Avith's explanation. Not well? Of course Allen wasn't well. But what good would separating them do? He would grind the few nerves left him down to nothing if he couldn't watch over her. He was a healer; she'd been sick. It was cruel to send him away when he might feel most useful.

The Occia watched Avith almost as clinically as he watched her. She wasn't thinking much of anything, but she could feel that something was wrong by his posture.

"Why?" she asked, that same hard expression on her face. She trusted her brother more than anyone, but he had frightened her the night she'd burned her hand. He would never hurt her, but the pit of her stomach dropped just the same. Another accusation leveled against him would crush what was left of Allen.

The only sign of Avith's agitation was the slow rub of his hands together before he clasped his hands again. It was hard to spot, but he was never quite sure of how peceptive she was, or how perceptive she would be now. He attempted to still the habit.

"It began... several days ago. When he called Brother Wellington in... to speak with him. He had not been... caring for himself. He confessed to Brother Wellington... that he was beginning to believe. The rumours of his going mad." He did not want to think of the other. "He asked him... to send him away. Should he become any worse. I believe ... he trusted Wellington. To be the one to follow through with such."

Funny, how they showed their trust. Trusting in the worst of them to keep them in line.

"Wellington made the decision... to send him away then. Out of the room, to rest. Brother Allen became frantic. And threatened to return. We went to search for him." He did look away then, down to his hands. "Sister Shayna... had to subdue him. And because he would not calm. I had to sedate him." He had no idea how Shayna had gotten him onto the floor, in all honesty, and he did not want to think on it. "... he has not been calm since," he said, his voice soft.

Avith's broken speech was difficult to follow, but the Occia tried. When she heard the word 'mad', however, she almost stopped listening. Allen had told Tobias. Her own brother hadn't trusted her judgment. It was much easier to listen from that point forward, no matter how questionable the details were. 'Subdue' and 'sedate' were the words of a priest, not a cancellarius. For the moment, however, she accepted it. Moirine had no choice but to.

"Bring him to me. I want to see him." Even through the haze she could clench her jaw and meet Avith's eyes. Why would they separate them? It was just another detail her cancellari kept from her, just another way her brother superseded her wishes.

He looked back up to her, and held her gaze a long moment. He did not shift his position, leaning over, arms on his knees, hands clasped before him, but his expression did, ever so slightly.

"No."

The word was quiet, but firm, an unusual tone from Avith, who was one of those most likely to relent and give in to her demands. They had spoken as seven, and the decision would stand.

"Forgive me, Lady. No. Until you are well again. He will not step foot. In this room."

"I am well enough."

Her appearance made it quite clear that she wasn't, but her voice was firm. She had done what she was told for more than seven years. She stayed within the citadel walls, she followed her council's advice to a fault. With a deep breath, she forced herself up to her full sitting height in bed. The Occia meant to stand, but when her legs were too leaden to even swing off the edge of the mattress, she stilled. Allen was all she had. She'd decide when he was to be sent away, and to where.

"Carry me to him," her voice shook, "I want to see my brother."

What did Avith have to fear of Allen? Moirine could fight Avith better than her brother could, even after her fever. What was the trouble?

"No."

It was not any easier to say than it had been the first time, but it was said the same as before, a sudden, still word, accompanied by little else. He watched her shift as though to get out of the bed, knew it would be easiest to simply do as she said, but he would not comply, feeling suddenly heavy sitting in that chair. He did not move, and he did not say anything else, only watched her steadily.

Allen was in no state to be seen. He did not know if he rested. Perhaps this would allow him to, perhaps not. What he had heard from Brother William's visit was... not encouraging. He resisted the urge to wipe his face with his hand. It had been no normal reaction, and Avith had put it clinically, cleaned it up, though once she heard from Allen it would be anything but. And she did not have the energy to deal with him now, as he was.

No.

She waited a moment to respond, her lips pressed together in a tight line. "Tell me what he's done to deserve this," she said sternly, fearing the worst, "Or take me to my brother." Had the cancellari learned why he'd come crying into her room that night? Though she was frail, washed out, unkempt, she'd use her presence as the Occia as best she could. Avith couldn't refuse her an audience with her priest, not without a serious accusation.

Ah, this is what he had wanted to avoid. He'd tried to speak with her on this matter on so many occasions, only to be silenced on the sole basis that it was her brother. At least part of this had come from her unwillingness to listen, which... he understood. But that did not make it right that she would not listen and they would not press on regardless of her wishes.

"As I said. He is not well. He has confessed... to his growing madness. Being here... will not help him. His reaction to leaving... even for a short while... was explosive enough to make us worry." A pause, the urge to clear his throat stifled. "We cannot wait... to see how much longer... before he can no longer recognize it. For himself. And cannot keep himself. From harming you."

"I know he isn't well," she practically hissed. Her hands were shaking beneath the covers, but she tensed her shoulders and neck to keep from showing any weakness. Allen would never hurt her. Anyone with a lick of sense could recognize as much. That he had confessed his frailty, in her mind, was the only thing that pointed to her brother's worsening mental state.

Her head was spinning, but the Occia took a deep breath, thought a quick prayer and responded. "You can't punish a man for a crime you think he's like to commit. My brother was worried about me. As any brother would be." But not like any brother. They meant more to each other than that. Her green eyes bright against the puffy red flesh of her eyelids, the Occia said, "Take me to my brother or bring him here. As my cancellarius, I order you."

"You know. And you have said nothing to us. The ones... sworn to help you. You know, but... have only held him closer. What we did... it is punishment. In a way. That, we could not avoid." He had not been wholly in agreement to what they had done, no. But by the time things had gotten rolling, their options had been limited. "But prevention, as well. It is not simply... love, between brother and sister. It is obsession. And it will ruin him. And you."

Then he repeated again, like a sigh, "no."

Moirine was half worried that she was misunderstanding, then half scared that this was what her cancellari actually believed. Every one of her guards had come to the Citadel willingly. They'd been honored with their position. They had power, a voice, the freedom to do almost anything in Tyrol. Moirine had been given up by her parents. She had no idea how to carry out her role as Cita's earthborn wife. The only person she could look to was Allen. He wasn't disturbed yet, he wasn't obsessive. He was a man of faith who had to watch over his sister as well as the wife of his god. That he broke down occasionally was understandable.

Finally, she began to speak. "Why would I tell you that my brother is troubled? He isn't mad now and yet the cancellari are punishing us both," she closed her eyes, unwilling to look at Avith, "You have no idea what you're talking about. You're as foolish as the fishwives who believe the filth the Hour spreads. Take me to my brother or I'll show my people the way you ignore my wishes."

The threat was said softly. It would be easy to ignore. Still, the Occia meant it.

Easy to ignore for some, perhaps. Avith was not one of those people. Her words left him cold, and for a long moment he didn't answer her, searching her face, but seeing no relentment in her thin, tired features. The silence in the room had gone back to as it had before while she lay sick and unresponsive, an oppressiveness that seemed to strangle even him, who spoke so rarely.

But they heard. And they saw. And it wasn't as simple as she wished to make it seem. And he would take whatever punishment came for all he had done and had not done, because he knew he had made mistakes and had stumbled as much as she, and could not blame her, or Allen, for what had come about.

"The seven have decided," he said, his voice a choked whisper. "I will not."

"You decide, but refuse to listen," she said without meaning to. All she wanted was to lie in bed and recuperate with her brother beside her. What about that spoke to obsession, to him hurting her? It was a vendetta, Moirine decided quickly. Her cancellari were brutes who cared for nothing, save that the Occia was still breathing. For years, she had blamed Allen for her solitude, but she'd been wrong. Her cancellari had the strength to protect her and still they locked her up.

"I am your Occia," she murmured. It was so hard not to cry, but she wouldn't let go, not until she was with Allen. "I am Cita's bride and you can't keep me from my priest."

It would have to affect her too, to some degree, to have kept it to herself all this time. It had become a burden for her, to care for Allen, she becoming as exhausted as he. Avith wondered if she had drugged him to sleep for his sake, or for hers, and if she realized it. Probably not. The two of them both going 'for him, for him', 'for her, for her', without realizing how selfish they were being. In a way, in a small way he was glad Tobias was not the one here speaking with her. Perhaps because of his nephew, perhaps he had always been that way, the man's patience with youngsters had been dwindling. He could only imagine what trouble his brother would have gotten into had he been here instead of Avith.

"You are correct," he said, his voice still soft, but not at all reassuring. "You are Cita's bride." He rubbed his hands together, digging his thumb into the gloved palm of the opposite hand. "A woman, now. That cannot continue... bringing her brother. Into her husband's place. Lady... you must let go of him."

She'd ordered him to let her see her brother. She'd reminded him that he was beneath her, and yet Avith still refused. Her chest rose and fell as her breath quickened. There had to be some reason that she wasn't allowed to even see Allen. Already on edge, Moirine began to shake as the possibilities started racing through her head. Maybe they'd already sent Allen away. Maybe he was hurt. Maybe he was dead.

Without considering her own strength, she swung her legs out of bed on the side opposite Avith. They buckled beneath her when she stood, but Moirine managed not to fall. She wouldn't even make it to the door before Avith caught her, but she couldn't stop herself now. Allen was all she had. He was the only one who would stand by her when Cita cast her off. No one spoke of former Occias, but what little she'd heard frightened her. They went mad, lived in the streets, killed themselves because of their guilt and sense of worthlessness. But if she could keep Allen... she'd be stronger than the other Occias.

Startled, Avith was on his feet the moment her body swung away, chair falling over and down the dias stairs, but with the bed seperating them was unable to catch at her as she stumbled out of the bed. Scared she might fall down the steps, he ignored propriety and launched himself over the bed, grabbing hold of her around her waist, her shoulders, careful to keep her upright, to make sure he did not hold her too tightly. "Lady," he said, his startlement, his fear plain in his voice when his face could not be seen.

"Please," he said, forcing himself to sound calm, not so desperate. "Wait. Just wait. Until you are recovered. You cannot be sick again," he told her, knowing it to be true. Should she become sick again... would she be strong enough a second time? And there were no others. There were no future candidates. They had looked, they'd had to consider it.

"Just until you are well," he whispered.

When she felt the unfamiliar sensation of an arm around her waist, the Occia stifled a scream. Rocking forward against it but too weak to break away, she gritted her teeth and shut her eyes as tightly as she could. "I need to see him," Moirine said, her voice thick with the tears she refused to cry. "Just let me speak to him..."

Aware of how pathetic she sounded, she shuddered. Avith's arm burned against her. All she wanted was a few minutes. Every Civitas in Balfour could watch her as she met with her brother, Moirine didn't care. She just wanted to set him at ease.

He held on to her only for as long as it took to ascertain she would not try to run again when he let her go. As unused to touching her as she was to being touched, he was only too glad to release his hold on her, but did not let her go completely. Gently her turned her around to face him, cupping her shoulders, ready to catch her should she fall.

"My Lady," he began, found he could not continue right away, swallowed and tried again, "what we have done... is cruel. I know. And I hope... I hope one day... you forgive us all. Please, sit." It seemed he wasn't done, but did not wish to see her still standing. He led her back to the bed, saw that she sat down, and kneeled in front of her. His hand hovered a moment over her knee before he rested it on his own instead.

"I cannot take you... to him. Not yet. But if it... will ease your heart, Lady. He is without his ledger. I will see it returned to him. Will you rest, then?"

Moirine stilled herself, fighting against her every instinct to bash his face in with her small fists. It was only Avith. She trusted Avith, she told herself. It was hard to keep from going into a panic at a man's touch, but at least this was someone she had know for most of her life. The Occia pressed her lips together to keep from shouting at him.

"What else can I ask for," she grated. Nothing she said to her cancellari seemed to matter. "I'll rest if I see him write to me."

He looked up at her, forehead creased in worry, but he only nodded, looking down, and stood to go back down the dias. Her ledger was where she must have left it, on her vanity. As far as he knew, it had been undisturbed. He certainly hoped so. It was hard to miss, if one knew what they were looking for, the leather dyed a rich, if somewhat splotchy violet. He rested it on the bed beside her once he had come back up the steps.

When it seemed he would speak, he said nothing more. Instead, he took out his own ledger and opened it to a new page, and with his pen wrote in the filter to his brothers and sisters. One sentence written, a pause. A few more things written, inevitibly scribbled out before he gave a sigh, trying to think of what to write next. Then he wrote to Shayna specifically, and in silence, waited.